Gentleman Practice
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: This is a long awaited conversation; Cal and Gillian finally talk about everything. "This: it's an apology letter to the both of us for how long it took me to let things go."
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: "Forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past." (Buddy Wakefield, "Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars")  
_

_

* * *

_

"You know mercy whenever someone shoves a stick of morphine straight up into your heart—

Goddamn, it felt _amazing_ the days you were happy to see me."

* * *

Gillian Foster watched as Cal Lightman entered the building with a particular swagger to his step. It was one with which she had become, as his business partner of nearly ten years, intimately familiar. He strode into the office with a coffee cup in his hand—the coffee cup in the break room had decided to simply up and die.

Gillian noticed the fact that he was only carrying one cup of coffee in his hands—she bit back the wave of nausea when she thought about the fact that there had been a time, not so very long ago, when, knowing full well that the machine was broken and knowing her affinity for coffee, he would have brought her a cup as well.

Her eyes flickered from the cup in his hand to his eyes as he strode up, stopping momentarily in front of her.

"Good morning, Foster," He said, smiling. He continued walking before he had even gotten the last syllable of her name out. Cal moved quickly, but not too quickly to notice that the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Morning," She returned quietly before making the snap decision to fall in line behind him.

Cal threw a look over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow in silent question, but he did not stop walking toward his office.

"We need to talk." She said, simply, still trailing him and trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from making their way into her throat—she'd have enough trouble reciting words without the added pressure of having to speak around them.

"You think?" He said, as they finally reached his office. They crossed the threshold, and Cal shut the door behind them.

Gillian stopped, rather awkwardly, in the middle of his office. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then folded her arms over her chest in a defensive measure. Cal walked around to the other side of his desk and took a seat in his chair.

"Did you have fun last night?" She asked—she tried to keep her tone light, but she knew she'd failed miserably when Cal leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Really, Foster?" Was his response.

"Really, Cal," She said.

Cal crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together tightly. Cal Lightman, trained in reading body language, had taught Gillian well. He was trying to communicate the fact that he, in fact, did not want to talk about it.

Sighing, Gillian sat down in the chair across from his desk, but she kept her arms crossed. Her stomach churned and she tried not to let the emotion beginning to well up slip into her words when she arched an eyebrow at him and asked, "Mother Superior?"

Cal's lips thinned out and his brow furrowed and Gillian could have sworn that she saw a flicker of remorse flash across his face. But as quickly as she saw it, it was gone and replaced with no emotion at all.

"What about it?" He asked, tapping his finger against his elbow.

Gillian felt her heart drop down into her stomach at the exact moment she felt tears welling in her eyes. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she pressed her back into the chair and tightened her grip on her own arms, while simultaneously biting her lip. Willing herself not to cry, she said, "What is going on with you?" She said, and he stared at her. "What's going on with _us_, Cal? What is _this_?" She motioned between them and she mentally patted herself on the back for not allowing the absolute desperation she felt to seep into her tone.

"You know the answers to all of those questions." He said, tilting his head to the right.

Gillian laughed, but it held no mirth—"Yeah," She breathed out, "Maybe I do." She said, "But the way you walked in here this morning, more than any other time before, broke my heart."

Gillian watched as Cal's mouth dropped open slightly and he sucked in air—she had caught him off guard with her honesty. It had been her intent, really, but she still felt a wave of nervousness as she watched the emotions crawl over his face—shock, anger, sadness, and one that looked remarkably like hope.

The silence hung heavily between them before Cal cleared his throat and then spoke, "What do you mean?" He queried.

Gillian took a steadying breath and then folded her hands in her lap—her gaze flickered between her hands and Cal's searching gaze as she spoke—"You weren't happy to see me." She said, matter-of-factly, as though that would explain everything.

"I wasn't happy to see you." Cal repeated slowly, trying to understand her meaning. Failing, he asked, "What does that mean?"

Gillian laughed a little, "Just what it says, I guess." Inhaling, she focused her attention on her hands and wrung them together, playing with the ring that adorned her right index finger, "There was a time," She began tentatively, "When you used to—I don't know, _light up _when you saw me. You were happy, Cal, genuinely happy to see me—" She trailed off, still playing with her ring. "It's been happening less and less—and then these last few days it's just…gone." She finished, and she finally met his gaze.

Cal was giving nothing away. He nodded his head slowly, "Okay…"

Gillian felt the tears welling up in her eyes, "You really have no idea, do you?" She asked him.

Cal raised his eyebrows and shook his head, indicating that no, he didn't have an idea.

"You being happy to see me…" She trailed off, "Made _me _happy, Cal. Honestly," She said, her voice quivering slightly, betraying her, "When I lost Sophie—" Her voice broke on the name, "And when Alec and I got divorced—that look you gave me—the _Gee, Foster, I'm glad to see you_ look—it _got me through_." She said, her hand moving involuntarily to her stomach as she contemplated the loss.

Cal was silent—at a loss for words, and his face wasn't speaking, either.

"So, what's changed?" She questioned, her gaze meeting his—her eyes were glassy from the tears but the blue was still brilliant.

Cal shrugged, "I don't know."

Gillian exhaled, "Bullshit."

A flash of anger passed over Cal's face—"I don't know."

"You _do _know, Cal—" She said, "You've changed."

"I haven't," He replied, pursing his lips and shaking his head in defiance.

"You have." Gillian said, nodding once in the affirmative, "I mean you've always been—well, you," She said, waving her hand in his general direction, "But lately you've been more reckless, haven't you? Exceedingly so—unabashedly so. You've metamorphosed into this _guy_," She emphasized the word, "That doesn't care whom he hurts or how badly he hurts them, so long as you're amused and enthralled." She finished, her lip curling up slightly.

Cal read her anger and he took in some of it for his own, "Now wait a bloody minute!" He said, pointing his finger at her and leaning forward in his chair.

"Tell me it's not true." Gillian said, her eyes issuing a challenge.

Cal opened his mouth to respond, but didn't. He took a breath and Gillian's smugness spurred him on, "What about you, eh, Foster?" He asked, leaning even farther forward.

"What about me?" She asked, her chin jutting out slightly.

"I'm the one that's changed—but you're the same old happy-go-lucky Foster, are you?" He asked, his tone abrasive.

She swallowed, "I didn't say that," She answered, "But this isn't about me—it's about _you_." She said, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat.

Cal smirked, "Well, then, let's _make _it about you for a second, shall we?"

Gillian rolled her eyes.

"No, I mean, really, Foster—let's make it about you, yeah? So, what? I used to be happy to see you and then I magically wasn't?" He read her face, "Oh, so it was gradual, was it? And when did you start building your life around me, Foster?" Cal read her face again, ignoring the rules they'd made long ago, "Oh really? That long?" His tone was mocking and Gillian bit her lip to keep from crying, "So, I changed into this drastically reckless bloke obsessed with adrenaline and you—what. Foster? Saw it happening? Saw me pull away from you?" He was squinting at her.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke next, "Stop, Cal." She said, her glossy eyes searching his, imploring him—asking him.

"What was yesterday, Gillian?" He asked, finally, leaning back in his chair and placing his palms flat on the desk.

* * *

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I suppose I should have said a bit about when this takes place- it takes place the day after the infamous "Mother Superior" comment. Thank you for your lovely reviews! This is slated to be possibly the longest. conversation. ever.  
_

_

* * *

_

"So I smashed a beehive against the ocean to try and make our splash last longer."

* * *

Gillian's right hand moved to fidget with her earring, and she tapped her foot lightly against the floor of his office. Cal's eyes watched her knee rise and fall several times before he returned his gaze to her face.

Gillian felt a wave of nausea pass over her and she tried not to let the sick feeling settle itself on her features.

"Yesterday was a Wednesday, Cal." She answered, knowing he would see through her deflection and betting that he would more than likely become frustrated with it.

Cal waved his hand in front of his face, "Don't give me that, Foster," He said, sternly, "Don't deflect like that—you're not nearly practiced enough at it."

Gillian blinked at him—her inability to deceive thoroughly was something that Cal had always been fascinated by. He never quite realized it was a choice for her—that she could be quite the good liar if she ever decided that she wanted to be. Instead, he underestimated her. But she'd spent a majority of her life dealing with lies and liars and she had no real desire to turn into either one of them, even when someone started asking tough questions.

She steadied her knee, although she could still feel it quiver with nervousness as her palms began to sweat—"Yesterday," She said, with a heavy sigh, "Was a last-ditch effort." She said, pursing her lips.

Cal narrowed his eyes at her, and tilted his head in question—"An effort at what, Foster?" He asked, his tone betraying nothing about how he felt.

His indifference was not something she was unused to at this point. Gillian curved her lips into a wry sort of smile, "At _us_, Cal," She said finally, and she took a moment to feel proud at the control her voice exhibited. It was a control she didn't actually feel—so the steadiness in her voice surprised her, she expected it to waver under the weight of her words.

Cal, practiced though he was in the art of deception, could not control his look of surprise. His jaw fell open slightly, and his eyebrows rose in unison—he tried to speak, but no sound came out. He hadn't know precisely what to expect—but he certainly hadn't expected that. "At…" He trailed off, his voice suddenly dry, "Us?" He finished lamely.

Gillian bit her lip and then nodded, pressing her back into the chair. She needed something to ground her and she concentrated on the feel of the material against her back through her shirt—she focused on all points of contact her body had at the moment so that the emotion that threatened to overtake her would not succeed. "At us—this—whatever this is between us," She said.

Cal considered this for a moment, and then disbelief overtook him, "Let me get this straight," He said, drumming his fingers on the desk, his eyes boring into hers. He didn't miss how uncomfortable she looked, "You thought you'd save…_us_," His mouth curved around the word and it tasted funny, "By antagonizing me?"

Gillian exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You still think that's why I did it, don't you?"

"I do." Cal said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian shook her head, "Contrary to your belief, Cal, not everyone in this world is out to get you," She said.

"I thought at least one person wasn't." He said, venom lacing his words.

He didn't know, couldn't, of course, how much his words struck Gillian. She reeled from them inside, her stomach dropping deeper into her body even as her outside remained relatively calm. She closed her eyes for a moment before she opened again and spoke, "You've been slipping away—" She broke off her sentence as she felt her throat try to close up on her. She swallowed hard and amended herself, "You've been pulling away for a long time, now, Cal." At his look, she continued, "I've felt it. I've felt the distance growing between us—and I'd tried in a million different ways—"

He interrupted her, "What ways?" He asked, his disbelief evident.

She stilled her body, "Little ways, Cal," She said, "Little tiny ways every day to try and repair whatever was broken between us—even though I didn't know what it was. I lost sleep," She admitted, "over the way our relationship changed—and so I did the only thing I could think of."

"You froze my assets?"

"_Our_ assets," She corrected, even to his eye roll, "But, yes. I did. And maybe I did it to get your attention," She said, her voice growing quiet. "It sounds silly even as I say it now, but you'd been ignoring me, Cal—and it—" She trailed off, "It hurt me. So, I reacted. It felt impossible even as I was doing it, on the phone with the bank—I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn't work." She admitted.

Cal's eyebrows rose in question, and he pressed his palm into his desk.

"Because I'd never have forgiven myself if I didn't try—something, _anything_, no matter how futile I knew it to be." She answered, thick honesty dripping off her words.

"You had to know how I'd respond, Foster." He said, his voice quiet, his eyes dark.

"I did, didn't I? And I thought I knew it—but, then," She said, "I thought I knew you—I thought we'd eventually figure whatever was between us the hell out." She said, her eyes matching his darkness, her voice steady despite her feelings to the contrary. "And I was right—to an extent. I knew you'd be angry—I didn't think you'd take it as far as you did."

"I could say the same for you."

Gillian let out a little laugh, "Yeah, I guess. But do you want to know what the funny part is, Cal?" She asked.

Cal waved his hand into the space between them—

"Having you feel anything toward me at all—even anger—felt better than the emptiness between us—at least, it did for a moment."

Cal's eyes softened as he heard the pain in her voice, as he watched it flicker across her worried face.

He didn't know what to say, so he let the silence linger between them and it felt completely charged.

Finally, Gillian spoke, her eyes full of emotion and distant at the same time, "Why, Cal?" She asked, and the subtext was clear—

She was asking, _What did I do_?

Cal took a steadying breath and cleared his throat. He'd never meant to have this conversation with her—but she was sitting in his office, so vulnerable, and so he spoke, "The Walker case." He said finally.

Gillian creased her brow in confusion—she tried to make the connection, but failed. "Martin Walker?" She asked, Cal nodded, "The sociopath?" She asked again, and he nodded. Her mind worked hard to figure out what it was about that case that had made him pull away from her.

Cal saw her thinking, and his voice was quiet as he offered a partial explanation, "After the case." He said, and he watched her, looking for recognition. Finding only confusion and a face deep in thought, he continued, "I came by your office…" He trailed off, his tone indicating that he was attempting to prompt her memory.

He folded his arms across his chest as he waited for her to understand. He watched as Gillian bit her lower lip, deep in thought, and he knew the moment she realized what he'd been getting at. He saw confusion metamorphose into recognition, recognition transform into surprise and he felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach when he watched surprise turn into a specific mixture of sadness and shame.

"Oh." She said, and her voice was tiny, but Cal considered her and the tone and facial expressions that accompanied it, and he thought that it might be the heaviest thing that had ever fallen from her lips. Cal cast his eyes downward as it sat in the air between them before he finally looked up at her to see her eyes glassy with tears.

* * *

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I'm not going to outright explain what happened with the Walker case- if you're having trouble remembering, go back and watch "Beat the Devil." Thanks for your wonderful reviews. _

_The conversation continues:  
_

_

* * *

_"This:

It's an apology letter to the both of us

for how long it took me to let things go."

* * *

"What do you mean?" Her voice was unsteady as she spoke. There was an uneasiness spreading throughout her entire body, and she was unable to keep it away from her words.

Cal sighed, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, he answered, "You know what I mean, Foster." He said.

"I didn't know," She said, "Back then." She clarified.

Cal got up from his chair and leaned against the bookshelf. He crossed his ankles and folded his arms, his gaze searching her face. "You had an idea—you knew _something_," He said, his voice rather curt, "I've taught you well, Foster." He finished, smiling and projecting an arrogance that he hadn't actually felt in a long time.

Gillian nodded—it was small, "Yes," She said, her voice a whisper, "But I couldn't be sure—I saw something, but I didn't know what, exactly, it was."

Cal shrugged, "Now you know."

Gillian scoffed lightly and repeated his words under her breath, "Now I know." There was a finality to her words that was not lost on Cal.

The tone incensed his anger—"Christ, Foster, what did you want me to do? Spell it out for you?" He said, pressing his back hard into the bookcase.

For the first time since they began their conversation, Gillian felt ire. Though her eyes still shone with emotion, she let the anger she felt slip into her words, "It wouldn't been nice, Cal." She said, folding her arms across her chest in a defensive posture, "Heaven forbid you actually _say _something."

Cal uncrossed his ankles and stepped away from the bookcase, "Hey," He said, and it was a near shout. Gillian recoiled slightly at the unexpected sound, and Cal felt a bit of remorse, but continued anyway, "I _said_ something—maybe not with my words, but I _showed _you what I meant—I _showed you_." He said, his finger jutting in her direction.

Gillian felt her body flush with anger, "You let your mask slip out of place for one fucking minute and I'm supposed to what—to _know_? I'm supposed to know that you're finally ready to take our relationship to the next proverbial level and I'm supposed to what? To go along with it? To be the one to actually _say it_? I'm supposed to read your mind?" She said, leaning forward in her chair. She resisted the sudden urge she had to rise from her chair to confront Cal. Her fingers gripped her knees.

"Yes!" Cal replied, "Yes, yes, yes to all of it, Foster, especially to the reading my mind bit." He said, letting his hands fall down at his sides. "You know me better than anyone else, and you should've known—you _did_ know and you made your choice," He said ominously—"You said no." He finished, his voice quiet, the anger replaced with some nebulous type of sadness.

Gillian sunk back into her chair at the weight of his words, "Excuse me," She finally said, "For being cautious."

Cal made a sound in the back of his throat, "Yeah."

"So that's when you decided?" She asked.

Cal furrowed his brow in confusion, "Decided what?"

"To stop." She replied, Cal raised an eyebrow at her. Gillian sighed, "To stop…" She trailed off, trying to search for the appropriate words, "Being nice to me." She finished, at his look she offered a wan smile, "To stop trying." She said, quietly.

Cal felt as though the air had been sucked out of him at her words—they were simple, but he felt them form in a lump in his throat and he struggled to speak around them. His voice was thick with emotion when he finally did, "I felt rejected, Gillian," He said, offering his palms up, "I'd taken a really big step," He admitted, "Or, at least, I thought I did—and you pushed me away,"

Gillian looked at him, "I didn't—" She began.

He cut her off, "You did." His eyes were sad. At her look, he responded, "Gillian. I read faces for a living—I saw it there," He pointed his index finger to her mouth, "And I saw it there." He said, his finger indicating her eyes, "That was worse."

"Cal…" She started, but she couldn't find the words.

"You pushed me away—so, I pushed back." He said, shaking his head lightly. "I didn't mean to push so hard," He said. "I felt it getting worse every damn day, but I just couldn't let it go—" His face scrunched into a rather self-deprecating smile.

"Imagine that." Gillian said, a small smile ghosting her lips.

"Oi." Cal said, softly. "So I put distance between us—and maybe I shouldn't have worked so hard at it," He said, glancing at the floor, "But I did. I _reacted_," he said, pressing his palms into the sides of his thighs.

"So did I." Gillian said, nodding slightly—her tone made it clear she meant it in more ways than just the one.

Cal smiled, "To which part?" He asked, his tone both playful and heavy.

* * *

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

"It was not my intention to make such a production of the emptiness between us;

Playing tuba on the tombstone of a soprano to try and keep some dead singer's perspective alive."

* * *

Gillian exhaled sharply and ran her palms flat against her thighs—she smiled at Cal softly, "Everything." She said, her eyes widening slightly, conveying the gravity of it all, "but mostly to the distance you put between us. It wasn't—it's not," she corrected, "Something I'm used to."

Cal shook his head, "I'm not used to it either," He said, narrowing his eyes, "And I can't…" He trailed off. At her look, he continued, "Say as though I particularly care for it." He finished, shrugging.

She smiled at that, and Cal was pleased to see that the smile itself was genuine, "Neither do I," She said, her tone adopting a somewhat conspiratorial tone. She waved her hand into the space between them, "I panicked." She said.

"On which account?" He asked—he considered her, watched the way the muscles in her face twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Both." She said, nodding a little. "But especially at the feeling of you slipping away from me—I wanted to hold on. I didn't mean…" She closed her eyes searching for the word, "To take it that far," She said, finally, her gaze falling to her lap. Her hands were locked together.

Cal nodded and leaned further back in his chair, casting his appraising gaze to her body, small and delicate in the chair before him. The silence still felt thick between them, but it had lightened slightly.

Gillian spoke again, "It feels…" She began, and her voice was timid when she spoke again, "Like there's a switch." She finished, her gaze flicking back to his. Cal read fear and he was surprised by it.

His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head, "A switch." He repeated, searching for a connection. Not finding one, he spoke again, "What do you mean?" He asked.

Gillian wrung her hands together and Cal thought that on anyone else the fidgeting would have been annoying—but on Gillian, it was rather endearing. Gillian felt a sense of nervousness present itself in stomach and she did her best to calm the queasiness as she spoke, "It's like you have a switch." She said, shrugging as though that should explain everything.

Cal stifled the laughter he felt bubble up at her expression, "I'm still not following you, love." He said again, keeping the humor he felt out of his voice.

Gillian sighed—she felt momentarily flustered because she was not confident in her ability to accurately explain to Cal precisely what she meant. She usually didn't have such a hard time articulating herself properly, but she was exhausted—emotionally and physically—

"For me. There's a switch for me, and you can turn it on and off." She said, gesticulating with her hands indicating some sort of nebulous idea she was attempting to put words to, "Whatever it is you…" She trailed off "feel" The word was tentative as it left her mouth, "For me—it's not all the time. You can turn it on and off apparently at will—and I," She said, her voice steady, "Can't do that." She breathed out.

Cal folded his hands together and rested them on his chest as he leaned back in his chair. He contemplated her, "You really think that?" He asked. She nodded, "Example?"

Gillian scoffed, "Really, Cal?" She asked, arching an eyebrow at him. Cal mirrored her gesture and nodded. Gillian sighed heavily, letting her exasperation be known, "Last night, for one—" She said, touching her fingers together as though she were reciting a list, "Off." She said at his questioning gaze, "The switch was off." She changed her posture so that her legs were crossed at her ankles, "In fact, the switch has been off pretty much constantly lately," She said, her voice growing quiet as she spoke. She was unable to mask the emotion she felt at the admission.

Cal looked at her and made a little contemplative sound.

Gillian rolled her eyes, reading disbelief on his face, "Fine," She said, pressing her back into the chair, "You don't have to believe me."

"Did I say that?" Cal said, raising his eyebrows and throwing his hands up, palms out in a defensive posture.

Gillian narrowed her eyes at me, "You didn't have to _say _it." She said.

"Oh, so you're comfortable reading me and accepting that as truth in _this_ particular situation—just not in the _other_ situation?" He asked, and his tone took on an accusatory quality that made Gillian's body tingle right down to her feet.

"Hey." She said, her voice stern, "Not fair." Her chin jutted out in defiance.

"I'm just saying." Cal responded, unfolding his hands and crossing them over his chest instead, "Seems a bit…" He searched for the right word, "Selective." He shrugged.

Gillian turned her head slightly and regarded him, "Yeah, well…" She trailed off as though that response were a retort in itself. Gillian felt the lump return to her throat as she contemplated the past few months. She'd seen Cal nearer to her than ever before the night of the Walker case—and the previous night she'd seen him the farthest.

Reading the emotion in her eyes and on her face, Cal broke the silence, "What are you not saying, Gillian?" He questioned.

Gillian shifted in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. With a reluctant sigh, she spoke, "The way you've been treating me lately—" Her voice broke off as she considered her statement, "Well, the way you've always treated me, actually, but especially the way you've been treating me lately," She amended, "Has made me question precisely _what _I saw that night after the Walker case. Because in light of the way you treat me," She said, her voice serious, "I couldn't possibly have been right about what I saw on your face." She said, meeting his gaze. She saw something flash in his gaze as he read her face.

"And what, pray tell, did you _think_ you saw that night?" Cal asked, leaning forward in his chair, his body language echoing the gravity of the question.

* * *

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

"It's just that I coulda swore you had sung me a love song back there—

and that you meant it;

but, I guess some people just chew with their mouth open."

* * *

Gillian pressed the palms of her hands into her thighs, and she bit her lip as she stared at Cal. She was holding her breath, and she released it at once, his name coming on the exhalation, "Cal…" She said, and though the word was breathy, it held a warning.

Cal shook his head, "Foster—" He said, his voice taking on the same warning tone. "You can't just _accuse_ me of something and then back off like that." He said, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"Oh, I can't?" She asked, the tone of her voice going up, "And _accusing_, Cal? Really?" She said, her voice containing a hint of amusement.

Cal shrugged, "What'd you see, Foster?" He asked, as though this were a test and she were his student. So familiar was the situation that it nearly had the capacity to transport her back in time to when he _was _teaching her. He'd ask that question after they'd spent hours analyzing seventeen seconds of footage.

Gillian sighed, "Nothing." She said, repeating the answer she'd given long ago. But there was an edge to her voice, and Cal read the response as she'd intended it.

"Nice try," Cal said, leaning his head on his hand, staring at her.

"Well, that _is _what I usually see." She said, her voice betraying the hurt she felt at always being subject to his mask.

"Fair enough," Cal replied, nodding. "But what did you see that night?"

Gillian felt the nerves rushing into her stomach—she felt the knot tie itself into her body and she swallowed around the lump that had, yet again, returned to her throat.

Gillian opened her mouth to respond—she was both relieved and frustrated to find that the words wouldn't come.

Suddenly, the door to Cal's office flew open, and Loker walked in carrying a case file. He was reading as he entered the office, "Hey, Dr. Lightman, could you take a look at the videotape for the Henricksen file? I think there's something weird going on between him and the sister." Loker said, coming to a stop in the near middle of Cal's office, smiling between Foster and Lightman.

Gillian felt relief flood through her veins, thankful for the interruption Loker's bumbling provided. Cal, on the other hand, was completely exasperated. Gillian rolled her eyes as she watched Cal's expression—she covered her mouth to keep from laughing as she watched his mouth hang open slightly and his eyes grow wide.

"Loker," Cal said, his voice uncharacteristically high, his disbelief in what had just happened painfully apparent to Gillian, but not to Loker. Gillian watched as Loker regarded him with open eyes, "Can you do something for me?" Cal asked, placing his arms on the desk.

Loker nodded, "Sure." He said, his tone expressing confusion and apprehension all at once. He was wary of Cal asking favors.

Cal looked at him, "Can you take your right hand like this," Cal said, and raised it up in front of himself, palm open, facing away from his face.

Loker looked between Cal and Gillian—Gillian shrugged and shook her head slightly.

Still wearing confusion on his face, Loker transferred the file from his right hand to his left, and held his right hand in front of his face, mirroring Cal.

"Good." Cal said, nodding his head, "Now, go ahead and close your fist like this," Cal said, watching his hand as the fingers closed to form a fist, thumb on the outside. Cal looked from his fist to Loker.

Loker looked uncomfortable as he closed his hand in the same way Cal did.

"Excellent." Cal praised, "Now, move your hand forward and backward once—like this," Cal said, bending his fisted hand at the wrist, letting it fall forward, and then bringing it back.

Loker looked from Gillian to Cal with a strange look on his face, and then he looked at Cal as though he were quite crazy. Still, though, Loker mirrored Cal's movements, moving his hand forward and then upright again.

"Great." Cal said, "One more thing, then," Cal said, "Just go ahead and repeat it three times—like this, fast or slow, doesn't really matter," Cal said, his face expressive as he made the gesture three times.

Loker shifted his weight on his feet and Gillian had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing at the confused expression on his face. Loker once again followed Cal's movements and repeated the gesture three times.

Cal leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Oh, okay." He said, nodding at Loker, "So you _are_ physically capable of knocking." Cal observed, "Just checking." He added.

Loker, finally understanding, looked chagrined as he pursed his lips together.

"Now," Cal said with a flourish, waving his hand in front of him, "Foster and I were in the middle of a very important conversation so, Loker," Cal nearly spat out the younger man's name, "If you don't mind—and I mean this affectionately, get the hell out of my office."

Loker didn't waste any time, he turned around and left Cal's office immediately.

When Loker had gone, Cal looked at Gillian, whose expression was some mixture of disbelief and humor—

"What?" Cal asked, his voice adopting innocence.

Gillian shook her head, "Nothing," She said, suppressing a smile. "You could've just told him to leave," Gillian said.

"Where's the fun in that?" Cal asked, smiling, "Besides, I doubt he'll ever _not _knock on my office door again." Cal observed, smugly. "Now," He said, "Where were we?" He asked, and then pretended as though he was actually remembering, "Oh, yes, that's right—you were insulting me in a round about way and then you were going to answer my question. So, what did you see, Gillian?"

Gillian usually appreciated Cal's ability to redirect conversation back on topic; today, however, she despised it.

Gillian shifted uncomfortably in her chair—"Fine." She said, throwing her hands up in defeat. She chose her words carefully, but that fact still didn't stop her from coloring—she felt her face get hot as the color rose up her cheeks, "That night, while you were standing in my office," She paused, momentarily, as she felt tears begin to prick at the back of her eyes—she wasn't ready for this conversation; she wasn't ready for this confession—"I saw—I thought I saw—" she amended, "Love." She said, finally, and the word felt big and small at the same time as it hung in the air between them.

Cal nodded once, and his gaze softened, but his face, as usual, gave nothing away. "I see." He said. "And you felt what?" He questioned, tilting his head to decide.

Gillian shivered lightly at his tone, she felt goose-bumps manifest on her body when she thought about what she had felt. She shrugged and shook her head lightly, her body indicating that she didn't know what she felt—her body lied.

Cal sighed and leaned back in his chair, "What did you think, then?" He asked.

Gillian shrugged, "That I needed to think about it." She said, simply—that was the truth.

"I see," He responded, and Gillian nearly rolled her eyes at the way his voice adopted a tone of nonchalance. "And did you?"

Gillian had to stop herself from answering too honestly and saying _every goddamn day_. Instead, she nodded once. "I did." She said, her tone curt.

Cal raised his eyebrows in question. When she didn't respond, he prompted her, "And?"

Gillian bit her lip and shook her head, "Oh, no." She replied, "This isn't confession time," She said, steeling her expression so that it would _not _be confession time, "Because that's not the end of it—and it doesn't matter _what _I thought of it, because it became exceedingly clear to me in the months after that I was absolutely _wrong_." She said, matter-of-factly, raising her eyebrows in emphasis.

Cal mirrored her expression, his eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline, "Were you now?" He asked, his face still expressionless.

Gillian allowed a wave of sadness to pass over her body—she allowed it to show on her face for a fraction of a second before she finally spoke, "I must have been." She said, her voice quiet, "Because there's no way," Her voice broke a little on the last word, "that if you loved me—the way I read on your face—if you loved me in that way," She said, trying to make the words flow despite the fact that they were jumbled in her brain—she knew it wasn't working, but she continued speaking anyway, "If you loved me like _that_, Cal," She said, "You couldn't treat me the way you have been." She said, finally.

Cal watched her, studying her face intently, and he felt his body go numb for a moment when he noticed the tears in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it, too wrought with emotion—he tried again, and his voice was a whisper when he spoke, "I was scared."

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Thanks, all, for your reviews; they mean a lot a lot a LOT to me._

_For the record (if one exists), I don't create these cliffhangers to generate reviews- if you'll notice, the epigraph at the beginning of each chapter correlates with the content of that particular chapter. That's how I break my chapters up. :)  
_


	6. Chapter 6

"So I ate earplugs alive with my throat,

hoping they'd get lodged deep enough inside the empty spots

that I wouldn't have to hear you leaving."

* * *

Gillian regarded him silently for a moment, trying to gain control of her senses—the raw emotion she felt left her reeling. She rubbed her hands against the fabric of the chair beneath her—"Scared?" She asked, finally, into the deafening silence.

Cal nodded, just once—a curt nod. He didn't quite trust his voice; of all the times in his life, he thought it ironic that it would choose this moment to fail on him.

Gillian sighed. "Of what?"

Cal shrugged—_of everything. Of the gravity of the situation_. His fear seemed limitless when he thought of Gillian Foster. "Of goodbye." He said, finally, glancing down at his desk momentarily, before turning his attention back to her. He watched as confusion etched itself into her face.

"Goodbye?" She asked, genuinely confused.

"Yes." Cal affirmed.

"Whose?" Gillian's throat was dry.

Cal chuckled lightly—"Yours." He said simply.

"Mine?" Gillian leaned forward slightly—"Cal, I've never left you."

"No," Cal agreed—"Not physically. But after the Walker case, you damn sure came close—"

Gillian found herself at a loss for words—

"Gillian." Cal said, his voice serious, his eyes dark—"You know my track record. My mother, Zoe—every woman I've allowed myself to get close to has left me—just walked out of my life with little to no warning."

Gillian's voice was soft when she spoke, "Cal," her eyes were still moist—"I'm not them." There was no accusation in her voice, just a clarification.

"I know that, Gillian." She gave him a look—"I _do_. But I saw your face that night, Gillian—and your uncertainty, in my fucked up brain, translated into your back."

"I'd never—Cal. You're my _friend—_" Gillian faltered—"You know me better than that." Despite her attempt, Gillian could not keep the hurt out of her voice. It genuinely pained her that he thought she would leave—that she thought she _could_ leave. Despite everything else—she couldn't.

"I know." Cal said, "But you're my blind spot, darling—when it comes to you, I can't think properly." Gillian stared at him, and Cal swallowed hard, trying to choose his next words carefully—"Losing Zoe hurt—you were there, you saw what it did to me—she left a hole I spent a good year and a half trying to fill with various things." Cal hunched his shoulders slightly, the gravity of the situation weighing down on him—"Losing her was hard. But, you, Gill? Losing you? I don't think I could handle it—there isn't enough alcohol and there aren't enough hookers in the world that could fill that empty spot, Gillian." Cal shook his head. "Losing you translates to loss of life—" He explained.

Despite his crudeness, Gillian felt her heart pull at his words—at the emotion he was conveying. He was usually so guarded—to have him be this open with her frightened and exhilarated her all at once.

"You hadn't lost me." She said, her voice quiet, wrought with emotion.

Cal sighed, "I didn't know that. So I lashed out, I did every stupid, reckless—"

"Mean—" Gillian interrupted him.

Cal sighed—"Yes, _mean_, foolish thing I could think of. I thought you were going to _leave_, Gillian, and then where would I be?"

"So your decision was to _hurt _me?"

Cal's face was a study in guilt—"Yes…Before you could destroy me, yes. I—I lashed out hoping I could drown out what I thought was the sound of your heels carrying you away from me, carrying you out of my life—"

Cal watched as a bit of shame passed across Gillian's face. He dipped his head to meet her downcast eyes—

"What's that?"

Gillian refused to meet his gaze, she felt her skin glow at his scrutiny—she felt the shame envelope her, and it traveled throughout her body, pausing to nose around in her stomach. She tapped her foot lightly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"You hadn't left, but…" Cal prompted.

Gillian bit her lip before finally looking at him—"I hadn't left, but…" She began, her words tentative, her posture sullen—"I _was _creating distance. I was." She said, nodding her head lightly.

Cal smiled—a small sort of smile that didn't belie any sort of happiness—"I knew it." He said—he was usually thrilled to be right; this time, however, he derived no joy from the knowledge—"Why?" He questioned, his eyes searching her face for an answer.

Gillian scoffed lightly—she didn't mean to, but she simply couldn't help it. Leave it to Cal Lightman to be blissfully unaware and yet acutely aware all at the same time. "Really, Cal? Why?"

Cal shrugged, and then leaned back in his chair. He brought his hands behind his head in a casual gesture that he didn't quite feel-"Yes, I do believe that is the question at hand, Dr. Foster."

* * *

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

"So I wouldn't have to listen to my heart keep saying:

All my eggs?

They're in a basket of red flags.

/

All my eyes to a bucket of blindfolds;

And they're covered with the muzzles and the gauze."

* * *

Gillian felt frustration seep into her veins, and she brought her hand up to rest lightly on her forehead for a moment before she put her hand back in her lap. "So many reasons, Cal—"

Cal regarded her—"What _did _Helen say to you?" He asked, genuine curiosity mingled with a bit of irritation in his tone.

Gillian shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"It clearly does matter, Gillian, if that's what made you think you needed to distance yourself from me."

Gillian sighed, "Helen said that you weren't for the long-haul—and that if I weren't cautious, I could end up a very lonely woman."

Cal's jaw hung open for a moment and Gillian watched as anger flitted across his face before he pressed his lips together in a firm line. "Oh, that is rich." Cal said, "_She _left _me_!" He shook his head in apparent disbelief. "So, what?" He said, looking directly at Gillian, "You just _believed _her, then?"

"No," Gillian shook her head—she leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on her leg—"Not at first. But then I started thinking…"

Cal raised an eyebrow—

"She was right, Cal."

Cal felt anger surge through his body and he shot out of his chair, pacing back and forth—"Bullshit." He said, not looking at Gillian. "That's bullshit." He said, stopping to face her.

"Is it, Cal? I thought it was too. But she was right—it was already happening. I was already turning into exactly what she said I would—a lonely woman."

"Bullshit."

"Poppy. Clara. Zoe." Gillian's voice was quiet but powerful as she recited the three names—

"Oh, come _on_…" Cal said, even as he felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.

"They hurt me, Cal—you hurt me _with _them." Gillian brought her hand to her abdomen, as though recalling the physical pain. "I didn't _want _Helen to be right, Cal. I didn't. But she was—"

"Be serious." Cal said, leaning against the wall—"Those women meant nothing to me."

Gillian let out a little noise, "Even so. They meant something to me."

"What does that even mean, Gillian?"

Gillian sighed, Cal could see the sadness on her face, and he wanted to reach out to her, to touch her and apologize profusely—but he didn't. He pressed his feet firmly into the ground, he resisted the urge to comfort her. She didn't need that now—she didn't want that now, no matter how much he did.

"You used them against me, Cal—I know you. I know you did. You saw what was happening and you decided it was time to push me away—and meanwhile, I was putting all of my energy and effort into you—into our partnership, into our relationship, into whatever we were working toward—both personally and professionally."

Cal opened his mouth to speak, but Gillian held up her hand, signaling that she wasn't done speaking just yet. "And seeing you with those women, Cal—it just _hurt_. It was red flag after red flag after red flag, but I couldn't see it—I didn't see it like that until Helen." She put her hand down.

"I'll have to remember to send her a thank-you card, then." Cal said, his tone wry. "I didn't mean to."

"I know. But you did." Gillian replied. She was proud of the way her voice didn't waver as she thought it should.

"I panicked." He said, raising his shoulders then dropping them slightly.

"You seem to have been doing a lot of that lately."

"You, too." He said, before making his way back over to his chair.

Gillian smiled lightly, "It's just that—you were playing hide and seek with my emotions, Cal. One day you'd look at me so tenderly—and the next, you'd be telling me about your escapades—and then, what?"

Cal raised his eyebrows in question—"What?"

Gillian furrowed her brow, and Cal watched as she tried to work a problem out in her head—"You just suddenly decided that you wanted me? You just suddenly decided that you were done with playing the game? And expected me to—what? To just say 'okay, Cal,'? To just ignore everything that had happened?"

Cal grew quiet and still—he looked at her—"I don't know, Gillian, honestly, I don't. I didn't mean to hurt you—I never mean to hurt you and I know I do it anyway and it isn't right. And I don't know what flipped the switch, ultimately, you know? But, I guess…" Cal trailed off.

"You guess what?" Gillian prompted, curious about the look that was on his face. She couldn't quite place it, and it thoroughly intrigued her.

"I guess being water-boarded a few times really has a way of putting things into perspective." Cal said, and Gillian shut her eyes. She hated to think of Cal like that, with Martin Walker killing him and then reviving him only to repeat the process.

It made Gillian's stomach turn, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to get the image out of her brain—she wished she hadn't ever read the police report—that she hadn't ever seen Cal's account of what had happened that night. She didn't believe him about Walker—and she often partially blamed herself for what had happened—if she'd been on his side, maybe things would have turned out differently.

"Hey." Cal said, his voice gentle. At the sound of it, Gillian opened her eyes—"I didn't mean to make you go there," He gestured with his hand to her face. "It's just that after that—experience—I thought I knew where _we_," He gestured between them, "were going—you know? Where I wanted us to be, at least." He smiled at her, then, his eyes sad. "Where we needed to be."

* * *

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

"You know, I didn't mean to speed so far out and off—

Trying to drive your nickels to the well,

when you were happy to let them wishes drop."

* * *

Gillian felt the blood begin to rush through her body with the exhilaration of Cal's confession. She heard the blood in her ears, and she had to concentrate on keeping her body in the chair.

Despite the fact that she didn't necessarily trust her voice, Gillian spoke anyway: "Which was where?" Her tone demonstrated the vast apprehension she felt.

Cal, who had been looking her in the eyes, dropped his gaze to his desk—to the legal pad in front of him—he shrugged.

The sound of Gillian's voice had him raise his eyes to meet hers again, "Where, Cal?"

Cal shrugged—"God, I don't know, Gillian." He sighed, and looked around before he looked back at her again—"Anywhere but _here_, you know?"

Gillian nodded, her eyes wet.

"I mean, shit—if I'd have known that it would end up like this between us, with us tiptoeing around each other—with us hurting each other—with me hurting you—well, I would've kept my mouth shut."

Gillian quirked her eyebrow at him—"Oh yeah?"

Cal smiled, thankful for the bit of humor she was injecting into the situation—"There's a first time for everything, love."

Gillian laughed lightly before she took a shaky breath, trying to keep the wetness in her eyes from spilling onto her cheeks.

Cal looked at her—he felt his body get hot—he hated seeing her tears, even the unshed ones, sometimes especially the unshed ones, and he balled his hands into fists to keep from going to her, to keep from reaching out to touch her. He knew, now, that what he needed wasn't always necessarily what she needed. His body coursed with his need to remember that and more importantly abide by it.

Cal sighed—"We can just forget about it, yeah?"

Gillian felt the air from her body seep out into the space between them, and she couldn't control the scoff that was the result. "Oh, we can?" Her tone was full of incredulity, but her eyes still shone with sadness.

Cal leaned back and looked at her. "Well. We could try." He cleared his throat as he moved to idly play with a pen on his desk. At Gillian's lack of response, Cal shifted in his seat, "Look, I don't want—"

"Of course this is about what you want—of course it is." Gillian interrupted him.

"Hey." Cal said, his voice gentle—"I didn't mean…" Cal trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

Gillian chuckled—"Yeah. I know. Neither did I." She shook her head, and Cal watched as she tried to process things in her head, "It's just that—you decide _everything_, is that it? And I decide—nothing?" Gillian wouldn't look him in the eye.

"You know it's not like that." Cal leaned forward in his chair, eager to make her hear him.

"It's not?" She asked, finally looking at him—he shook his head. "Well, you decide when it's time for us to move forward in our relationship, you decide when it's time for us to not move at all—it sure seems that way, Cal." Gillian shrugged, "You didn't even _ask _me if I was—I don't know, ready for a next step. God, you didn't even want to know if I _thought _there was a next step for us."

Cal was speechless for a moment, confronted with Gillian's feelings. He hadn't completely thought things through—he thought he had, anyway. But, it was clear now that he hadn't—he knew she was making perfect sense. Beyond that, he knew she was speaking from a point of hurt and anger—but he still felt his blood rushing, he felt the need to defend himself.

"Really, Gillian?" He asked, his voice betraying his emotions—"So, what? I imagined everything between us all these years, that it? There was never any attraction, no lingering looks—no bloody _current_ between us for all these years? I just made it up, then?" Cal pressed his palms into his desk as he spoke.

Gillian narrowed her eyes slightly—"I didn't say that, Cal." Her voice was quiet.

"You're right, you didn't. Because you're not one to lie, Gillian." Cal's voice was heavy, the undercurrent of all the things he was talking about building under his words, "You _know _there's something between us. I know there's something between us—pardon me, but I thought it was damn well time to get it out in the open, to stop dancing around it. But, I didn't mean to get so far off track, okay?"

Gillian's brow furrowed as she tried to work out his meaning—"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I didn't mean to try to force you into anything, Gillian—" He shrugged, "You're an intelligent woman," He smiled at her, his words echoing the ones he'd spoken to her so many years ago. "You know there's something between us—I was ready to work on it, you were content to let it go—I should've respected that." He smiled wryly, "Well, I should've at least acknowledged that."

Gillian shifted in her chair and offered him a small smile in exchange for his small joke.

"But, instead, I pushed you—" He smiled at her, "And then punished you when you didn't go in the direction that I wanted—I shouldn't have done that. I just… I take things personally—"

"You don't say." Gillian laughed.

Cal laughed with her, a small sound that seemed to dissolve some of the tension between them, "Especially when it comes to you."

Gillian sighed—"I know." She tapped her foot lightly, trying to wrap her brain and her heart around what was happening—around everything that had happened between them. "But, Cal—I mean—I never said _no_."

Cal's mouth opened slightly and then closed—he opened it to speak, but nothing came out—"Is it…" he faltered, adrenaline rushing through his veins—"Are you saying yes?" His voice was low, nearly a whisper as he looked at her with intensity.

Gillian shrugged—"No. I'm not saying—I mean. I still don't _know_, Cal—things are so _different_ now—so much has happened. I don't know how to just set it all aside and act as though everything is fine when… when my heart is still hurting."

Cal pressed his back into his chair and set his jaw, he felt his body tense at Gillian's words and he had to work hard to suppress the cringe that threatened to overtake him. He hated Gillian hurting—he hated hurting Gillian, and knowing that he was the cause of her pain was driving him insane—

He felt the familiar panic rush through him—the little voice that had began many months ago saying _you'll lose her_—but he struggled against it, struggled against the urge to plea.

Instead, he gave her a curt nod—"Okay. Fair enough." His voice was terse and Gillian smiled, recognizing at least part of his struggle. She knew he had more to say. "Your decision, darling. Always has been."

Gillian felt her stomach give a little flip-flop at the sentiment—at the tenderness she saw in his eyes and heard underneath his words.

"And until then?" She questioned, her eyes searching his—finding tenderness and patience, she felt a warmth invade her stomach. She had to fight the urge to give in right then and there—she called instead on the feelings of hurt his behavior had inspired in her. Cal didn't react—she wasn't sure he had heard her, so she asked again, "And until then?"

* * *

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I'm back with this story. Should be one chapter left after this, if there's interest in finishing it out.. Can't promise this is up to par with the rest: it's been a long, long time._

* * *

"I still show up for gentleman practice  
and the company of lead dancers  
hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes

Is that a handsome shadow on my breath, sweet woman?  
Or is it a cattle call and a school of fish?  
Dance with me.  
Less like a waltz for panic  
and more for the way we'd hope to swing  
the night we took of everything,  
and we were swinging for the fences…

* * *

The knot in Gillian's stomach tightened itself—part of her wanted compliance from Cal, something she so rarely got. She wanted deferment—for him to allow her to make the decision. But, another part of her wanted him to fight her back on this—to want so badly to be with her that he was unable to comply with her simple request. At the present moment, she wasn't sure which part of her ached more.

Cal averted his gaze for a moment, before looking Gillian directly in the eye. He took a deep, steadying breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs completely before he expelled it. "Until then," he said, finally, his voice quieter than Gillian had heard it in a long time, "Until then, I'm here."

Gillian's mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise—she wasn't used to this candor between them. At least, not anymore. There was a time when it had been par for the course, when they would come to each other with their troubles and triumphs, but those days were long gone. That they might return to this way of being with one another had long been her secret desire. That it was happening now, this honesty, thrilled her and filled her with trepidation.

"You're saying—you'll wait for me?"

Waiting was not in Cal Lightman's nature, so the disbelief in her voice was genuine.

"I'll try, Gillian." Cal pushed back into his chair, "I'm still… learning how to be. You, of all people, know that."

Gillian nodded her head once, she _did_ know that more than most, but she couldn't help except to allow the sadness to creep in. In that moment, she knew what part of her ached more—the part she had been trying to quell for years now.

She couldn't help the tears that flooded her eyes—she looked around the room and tried every trick she had ever learned, naming thing in her mind 'brown desk, red book,'—but it didn't work, the tears came anyway.

Cal watched her carefully as she blinked them away, and slowly and steadily a panic began to rise in him. Gillian's tears frequently did that to him, and he had learned to ignore it when he needed. But, this time, it felt more severe—more _urgent_. There was this nagging voice that kept repeating a sentence over and over and over again—'_Unless she smiles, you will lose her_.' The panic in him increased, but he stayed motionless. He knew that he couldn't let _panic_ be the motivating factor of his next action—so he sat, quiet, as Gillian glanced around the room, her eyes darting from place to place. And after he forced the panic down, he thought back to a night many years ago that he hadn't let himself think of in a very, very long time. He let the joy of that moment fill him, and then he calmly reached for the remote, and clicked on his sound system, after fiddling with his phone, soft music began to fill the office, the volume low, the tempo high.

Cal watched Gillian's eyes snap to his, as she heard the song that was playing, and then he watched a myriad of emotions pass over her face—so many that he couldn't read them all. He held out a hand to her, and found himself holding his breath as Gillian watched his outstretched hand.

Finally, without expression, she took it. Cal helped her to her feet, and then began leading her, much more slowly than the music suggested.

Gillian allowed herself to be led, and Cal took this as a good sign. He began to pick up the pace, and before he knew it, they were swing dancing in his office, each remembering steps they'd long since sworn they'd forgotten.

'_Muscle has memory,' _he thought recalling the night they'd danced exactly as this, a humid summer night, and then his face grew slightly hot as he remembered what came after the dance. Cal swung Gillian out, and she twirled back into is arms, and that's when it happened—it started as a smile, but it eventually became a laugh. A soft laugh, not a full one—but it was enough to silence the voice he had heard earlier.

They were dancing completely in time to the music when the final chords rang out, and the music switched off. The room was silent, as they both stood, slightly panting from their exertion, before dropping their hands, the feel of flesh on flesh entirely too much.

Gillian's smile was gone, and she regarded Cal with a cool gaze.

"I thought we agreed to never mention that." Her eyes were narrowed.

Cal expected at least a few moments of mirth before the conversation turned serious. "We still haven't, technically," Cal shrugged.

"The _exact_ song, Cal? And you're calling upon _technicalities_?"

"It's been three years, Gillian."

Gillian crossed her arms over her chest, "Yes, and our agreement was _never_."

"Right." Cal said, nodding, "That was your thing, not mine."

Gillian felt the anger swell up in her, "Fine. Do you want to talk about it, Cal?"

Cal had _always_ wanted to talk about it, actually. "Sure."

"Fine." Gillian sat down, "Talk." She waved her hand in a rather dismissive gesture.

"Why don't you want to talk about it, Gillian? Why did you keep me like some _dirty little secret_? You didn't cheat. You and Alec were legally separated."

"I know that." Gillian gave away nothing. Cal could tell she was working hard at keeping her face, and body language unreadable, and her voice was steady.

"Then why are you so _ashamed_ of it, Gillian?" Cal was goading her. He knew it, she knew it, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to work.

"I'm not." Her eyes bore into him.

"Ashamed that the prim little Gillian Foster stooped so low, fell into bed with renegade Cal Lightman, unworthy as he is?" Cal's voice was taunting her, taking on a mean edge. He was doing it deliberately, pushing through every defense mechanism she threw at him. He knew she hated that image.

"Knock it off, Cal." Her teeth pressed together.

"Oh, so that's it, then? Why we've never spoken about it? How could you let yourself fall so far, love?" Cal loomed over her, and then fell back into his chair. "At least I understand now." Venom dripped from his words.

Gillian sighed, "Fine, Cal—I _was_ ashamed, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I was ashamed?"

"Just want the truth like always, darling." He said the term of endearment like it was an epithet.

Gillian's eyes turned dark as the word 'darling' hit her like a physical blow. "I was ashamed because I let myself fall into bed with _you_, Cal, of all people! I was ashamed that I let you _use_ me like that! I didn't want to face what would happen next—the inevitable part where you say 'sorry, love, but it was a _mistake_.'" Her impression of him was spot on.

Cal sat silent for a moment, watching the anger leave Gillian, watching shame replace it.

He felt his own anger flare up in him, not fake any longer. "Christ, Gillian, is that _really_ what you think of me? Good to know." He studied her, "I call _bullshit_."

"Believe what you want, Cal. Nothing new."

"No. _Bullshit_. You were _scared_, Gillian. You were scared because one night three years ago we had sex and it was _bloody brilliant sex_."

Gillian scoffed, "As though I'd never had good sex before? How insulting." Her voice belied her incredulousness. Alec was fabulous in bed. Gillian stood, and made her way over to the mp3 player—she jabbed her finger at the power button, switching it off.

"Not with me, you hadn't." Cal said, standing up and rounding the chair, "Remember that night, love?"

Gillian faced Cal's bookshelf, and she was thankful he couldn't see her as she pressed her eyes together. Of course she remembered. When she and Alec decided to reconcile, she had to actively force herself to not remember every detail of that night.

"So you were _scared_."

Suddenly, Gillian whirled on him, but kept her back pressed against the bookshelf, as though she needed help standing up. "I was scared, yes. Because I _know _you, Cal. I knew what the next step was."

"Did you really?" Cal asked, closing in on her, his eyes hot with anger. "Enlighten me."

"Nothing. The next step was nothing. That's how it is with you, Cal. I've known you long enough."

Cal stepped in front of her, livid. He was angry at her opinion of him, but he was angrier at the fact that she lumped herself together with every other woman, when that was so far from the mark. Beyond that, he was hurt. Suddenly, he was seized with the intense need to _hurt her back_.

"You're right, Gillian." Cal's face was inches from hers, "That's the way you see it, so you're right. I _used _you. I fucked you in that hotel room in Memphis like I'd fuck _any other woman_. And because I'd spent _ages_ wondering whether or not you'd be a good lay. Do you want to know the verdict, Gillian? Do you? Do you want to know whether or not I think you're good in the sack—the truth?"

Cal's arm was poised above Gillian's head, his breath hot on her lips as he spoke millimeters away from her mouth—he wanted to stop himself, but he couldn't, so his voice was gravelly when he spoke, his anger seeping into every bone in his body, his wrath pushing him forward, allowing him to ignore the look of helplessness on her face as he told her the lie:

"_I've had better."_

* * *

TBC


End file.
